Awakenings
by Astrorum
Summary: Rose Hathaway is a Dhampir. Only... she doesn't quite know it yet. That is, not until a tall stranger unexpectedly turns her world upside down and exposes Rose to things she never even believed existed. With a string of ruthless attacks in London that can only be at the hands of Strigoi, Rose must use this newfound knowledge for the greater good. AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hi guys! This is the first story I have written in ageeeeees (I've not written in a very long time, so am feeling a little bit rusty). I hope you enjoy it AND I hope this gets me back into writing. This is just a short prologue, the normal chapters will be longer - rest** **assured!**

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 **Prologue**

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I have always loved living in London. It's a city that is always abuzz, no matter the time of day. At nine in the morning, bleary-eyed commuters scurry along, clutching their to-go coffee cups like a lifeline. By the afternoon, university students have emerged from their beds, trying to catch a lecture they are already five minutes late to. Even into the early hours of the morning, the streets are ablaze with people enjoying London's non-stop nightlife. It's hard to feel lonely or unsafe here, or so I'd thought.

 _ **ANOTHER BODY FOUND MAULED.**_

I place my newspaper down and take a sip of coffee. There have been three murders this week alone – all in the same general location, and all left in the same way. The newspapers are saying it's a serial killer; the police are telling us to remain vigilant, yet still calm. I bite my bottom lip in worry. It seems as though my safe haven, my sanctuary, is no more.

My phone buzzes furiously in my pocket, releasing me from my morbid thoughts. Smiling at the Caller ID, I pull it out and accept the call.

"Hey, Rose!" Mason exclaims. "What's up?"

"Mase, hi." I reply. "Same old, same old. I've just finished work and have had the most mind-numbingly boring day."

"That sucks, we should do something to turn it around. It is a Friday, after all."

"Seven. Leicester Square Station. Be there."

I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful for my new plans. Surely, a few cocktails and some quality time with my best friend will perk me up a little. Mason and I have been friends since before I can even remember. We have always been a bit of a package deal – wherever he goes, I go and vice versa. He is pretty much my only family, seeing as we both grew up in the same orphanage. Foster homes came and went, but Mason was – is – always a stable entity in my life.

The café's door swings open, making the bell chime. A very tall, very attractive man glides in and heads straight towards the counter to make his order. Like every other Londoner, he seems to be in a rush to get his coffee and go. I drag my gaze away and gather up my belongings. If I am going to make it for seven, I'd better get a move on. My chair makes a screeching sound as I push it back underneath the table.

The tall stranger, as though offended by the noise, turns to look at me. His brown eyes instantly widen and glare into mine. I quickly feel uneasy, his stare cold and unyielding. I shake it off and head towards the door, wanting to escape the whole awkward situation. However, his hand shoots out and grabs my forearm, preventing me from exiting the café. I look to the barista for help, but he is too busy with the stranger's coffee order to notice.

I gulp, instantly fearing the worst. This is it. He's the serial killer plastered all over the newspapers. Surely, though, this café is a bit too public?

"You're a Dhampir," he whispers so quietly that only we can hear. He seems shocked. "I didn't know there were more Moroi in this area, who's your charge?"

"Uh, what are you talking about?" I reply, snatching my arm from his grip. "Are you okay, man?"

He looks at me, bewildered, which is funny, because he is definitely the one who sounds like a crazy person – not me. I glance down at my watch. 6:30pm. I'll definitely be late unless I make my escape now. I hitch my bag up onto my shoulder.

"Listen, I'm going to be late. I've gotta run," I say, already pivoting on my heels. Still in shock, the strange man does not protest my leaving. Instead, he watches, slack-jawed, as I run out the café door and towards the promise of cocktails and Mason.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:** **Hey guys! I'm back with the first chapter today and it's much longer as promised! Let me know what you think and whether I should include some Dimitri POVs in this story too.**

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 **Chapter One**

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Mason is already sat down with two drinks by the time I get to the bar. Rather than making him wait around for me at the station, I'd decided to let him know that I was running late due to the cafe man and instructed him to get the drinks in. I could almost sense his hackles rising over the phone as I briefly skimmed over the strange encounter. He gets so overprotective sometimes. I grin at him as I make my way over to our table, pointing a finger accusingly at the drinks on the table. There, untouched, are two shot glasses of tequila, two wedges of lime and a salt shaker. I shudder, remembering past rendezvous with the drink.

"Tequila, Mase? Really? You know what it does to me." I joke, not really caring.  
"What?" he says, holding his hands to his chest in feigned shock. "You sounded like you needed it on the phone! I'm just being a good friend."

I shake my fist at him, but drink the shot regardless. He's right, I do need to have a little fun and let my hair down tonight. The entire week has been slow at work, with little to no jobs to do. Plus, I haven't seen Mason in two _whole_ weeks, which is a long time for us to go without seeing each other. For extra measure, I let down my ponytail and spruce up my hair. The fun Rose is coming out tonight in full force. Mason smiles at me approvingly and lifts his hand up to order another round of drinks.

It's a Friday night, so the bar is abuzz with people. There are couples on dates, sipping fancy cocktails and leaning in close to talk to each other. People are also out for work drinks; they are separated into different cliques, gossiping about office politics and such. Groups of girls are out in force, dressed up to the nines and already on the dance floor. Men swarm around them, waiting for their opportunity to strike up a conversation.

"Are you going to tell me what happened at the cafe?" Mason asks. "You said you were running late because of a weird guy? Did he do something to you?"  
"Woah, Mase. What's with the inquisition?" I reply jokingly. "He was just this weird guy, who thought he knew me from somewhere. It was probably his way of flirting or something, I don't know. He seemed pretty crazy."  
"You do always attract the weird ones."

That's when I spotted him. The man from the cafe - the tall, attractive stranger. He is sat at a nearby table, wearing an extremely long leather jacket despite the warmth of the bar. I'm pretty sure it's the kind of jacket that cowboys wear in the old Western films. His medium-length brown hair is tied at the nape of his neck, but a few pesky strands fall loose and frame his face. His eyes are a warm brown, but just like before, they gaze into mine with an uneasy ferocity. I can't help but wonder whether he heard our conversation about him, and my face begins to rouge. _Stupid, Rose. Blathering idiot._

I quickly tell Mason I am going to the toilet and shoot out of my chair. I need to get some water on my face and cool myself down. The blood rushing to my cheeks has made me feel a million degrees. I realise my mistake as soon as I start edging towards the bathrooms, when the mystery man also gets out of his chair and begins to head my way. _Shit_ , I curse myself. _What have I done?_ Before I can even plan an escape route, he is towering over me in all his glory, his lips set in a serious line. He grabs ahold of my forearm, like he had done in the cafe hours before, and escorts me into the smoking area of the bar.

"What _is_ your problem?" I protest, trying to shrug off his arm. "Did you follow me here? Are you that obsessed?"  
"Who are you?" he asks calmly, cocking his head to one side in interest.  
"Why the bloody hell should I tell you?"

He sighs and surveys his surroundings, trying to figure out whether anyone is within earshot. "You're like me," he states simply.  
"You see, I don't even know what that means." I huff. "You're being way too cryptic, cowboy."  
His lip twitches as though something is funny. "You really don't know, do you?"

I roll my eyes at him, fed up of his games. My next retort is on the tip of my tongue, when I notice him visibly stiffen. I may have thought he was stoic and cold before, but that was nothing compared to this. His eyes are wide and darker than ever, his lips are forced into a firm line. He reaches into his long leather jacket and pulls out something silver. A weapon. A stab of fear shoots down my spine, as chilling as ice. I should have trusted my instincts back at the cafe. He isn't just strange, something about this man is very, _very_ dangerous.

He takes a step away from me and furrows his brow. Without an explanation, he begins walking away, out of the smoking area and onto the street. Every instinct in my body screams at me not to follow, but curiosity gets the better of me. My legs begin to move almost on their own volition and they follow him down the packed streets surrounding Leicester Square and into a dark, narrow alleyway. I squint into the darkness and make out two figures. One is the tall stranger from the cafe, holding that glinting silver weapon in one hand. The other figure is – impossibly – taller and _really_ pale. His skin is a chalky white and almost iridescent in the moonlight.

The two figures dance together gracefully – a dance of death. The chalky giant reaches out again and again, trying to catch the stranger from the cafe, but always fails. On and on, they dance, neither one of them gaining the upper hand. Until, the pale figure manages to dart past my stalker and runs down the alleyway – towards me. He latches onto me, his fingers curled inwards like talons, painfully gripping my shoulders. His eyes bore into mine, a reddish colour like the colour of blood, before he smirks and bares his teeth at me. Pointy, like a bat's.

Before I can even scream, the giant's smirk drops and his grip slackens. His body falls onto me, ice cold and heavy. Behind him stands the stranger from the cafe, panting and looking at me with warmth and concern. He shoves the man – no – the creature off of me and gently takes a hold of my forearms. His chocolate coloured eyes search my body for any cuts or bruises. "Did it bite you?" He questions frantically, brushing my hair away from where it lay against my neck.

I shake my head at him. _No,_ I want to say. However, I am way too shocked to speak. I have so many questions rushing through my mind as I stare at the lanky body with the silver weapon still lodged in his back, it's overwhelming.

"What was that?" I manage to mumble, barely audible over my thumping heart. "That... thing?"  
"That was a Strigoi," he states and lets go of my arms. "Something that you may call a vampire, I guess, in your... stories."

I want to laugh in his face, but as I stare down at the body, I cannot deny the facts. I cannot deny what I saw a few moments ago. The blood-red eyes, the chalky complexion, the _teeth_. I slide down to the ground and lean against the brick wall, hugging my knees to my chest. _You're like me_ , the stranger had said, but what did that even mean? My head begins to spin with all of this information.

"You said I was like you. Earlier, at the bar." I wheeze. "I'm not saying I believe you, but what does that even mean? Am I like Buffy or something?"  
"My name's Dimitri," he chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. "I think we have a lot to talk about."


End file.
